


My Blood My Love My Life

by irismustang



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-12
Updated: 2012-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-05 05:32:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irismustang/pseuds/irismustang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rings are impractical, in their line of work. What they have is so much more permanent than a band of gold. They are each other’s salvation and damnation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Blood My Love My Life

They don’t need rings to prove their commitment, their dedication. Rings are traditional, yes, a sign of a union, but they’re not practical, in their line of work. 

Rings can be damaged, can be lost, can cause serious damage to the joint if caught on something. Rings are a sign to others that you have someone waiting for you, someone they may be able to use you against, someone they could manipulate, or someone they could use to manipulate you. No normal person thinks about that, but they haven’t been normal in years, sometimes they doubt they ever were. Rings fit oddly under his glove, they cause a spacing between his fingers that does _not_ throw him off, thank you, but it still annoys him, just enough. 

She doesn’t like rings. Earrings, yes, she has amassed quite a collection of earrings, and necklaces, and wears those every chance she gets, when not in uniform. Most are from him, several are from op locations, handmade and unique. One necklace in her collection is broken, part stained rust-red, and it will never be cleaned, never repaired. It tells the story that her skin does not, since the wound healed without a scar. 

A lot of their injuries have healed without scars, or are so old that even the scars have faded, but they know the location of every wound, every visible, and invisible, scar that their lives have etched into their skin. The ones they gained after pairing up, they could draw the wound pattern from memory and it would be near-identical to the original documentation. Some, most, would call that morbid, disgusting, but they call it love. They know the wound because they were there, either when it happened or shortly after. They soothed away pain with lips and fingertips, treated and bandaged and watched each one heal. They remember, because it means that once again they won, they survived, they defeated something that was meant to defeat them. If she shudders when he bites the scar he gave her, if he growls her name when she licks the one she gave him, well that’s a different story, but not entirely. He was meant to kill her, it was in her nature, her best interest, to do the same to him. How they made their way to this, to a twisted form of domesticity in the midst of the silent deadly path they cut through the underbelly of the world, is still a mystery to them both. 

Some have noticed their connection, seen something that means they are more than just partners in crime, sanctioned as it is. When that happens is the worst. In those instances, they have watched the one they love spew the most convincing lies, the most painful poison, in their faces. They have felt hands that were so tender a night before, hands that brought such pleasure, deliver excruciating pain for the sake of a mission. They have both sat stoically, coldly, as the other was tortured, and they have painted rooms crimson with their captors’ blood in violent and silent apology for things they could not help. It does not make the pain stop, cannot heal them, physically or emotionally, but it helps them anyway, in a twisted way that psychiatrists would have a field day analyzing. 

It doesn’t matter that they can compartmentalize enough to complete any assignment, to do whatever it takes, no matter the emotional agony. They both know that one day that won’t be the case, one day one of them will take their last breath, and S.H.I.E.L.D will lose them both. 

As perfect as they are together, the fact remains that they are each other's Achilles heel. 

That is where they keep their marks, their version of rings, their permanent promise to each other, inked into their skin. On her ankle a hawk, on his, a spider, both marks small and dark and forever a reminder that what is a blessing is also a curse. 

She is his, he is hers. They are each other’s pain and pleasure, life and death, salvation and damnation, heaven and hell, and everything in between. And they would not have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know how this became what it is, I really just wanted to write something fast enough to articulate my idea that they would find a way to turn even something as "innocent" as tattoos in place of wedding bands into something with multiple meanings, hence placing them at their ankles. And then it morphed. Please be gentle if you comment. I'm well aware this could be better, but I'll accept any notes you may want to constructively give.


End file.
